Page 100 of A Bride for the Winter King
The other woman gasps as we come in. “Oh my Eros. She’s here.” She’s about my age, and I figure she must be Daisy’s sister, the one that mysteriously fell sick the night before the pageant so Seth could squeeze me in the roster.
Daisy leaps from her seat. The wide skirt of her gown, adorned with silver roses, sweeps the floor as she hurries over to me. Her bridal up-do is decorated with a white veil and a platinum tiara—the perfect look for a Winter Queen.
“You’re…gorgeous,” I admit, my throat tight and painful.
The certainty I’d found back in the prison waivers, but Daisy grips my hands. “I can’t do this, Lori. I can’t sleep with him infront of all these people. I’m not made for ice. I don’t want to die, I—” Adrenaline and fear crank up her sultry voice by a few octaves, and my already racing pulse picks up speed.
A knock on the door startles us all, and I wrap myself in shadows before Byron flies into the dressing room. The Faeling is wearing black tails and a top hat, the usual shimmer of his wings at his back. “Ha, Seth. Glad to see you finally deigned to join us. The broadcast has commenced, so we need to cross the labyrinth.”
Daisy nods emphatically at that. “I need a minute, please.”
Byron hesitates in the doorway, adjusting his small glasses on his nose as he observes the three women and Seth in turn. “Is something wrong?”
Daisy serves him a wide, sugary smile. “Nope. I just need another minute.”
Her mother stalks forward to close the door with a feigned sniffle, her nose buried in her handkerchief. “Give us a moment.” She slams the door in Byron’s face and turns to search the room for me. “What are you here for?”
I loosen my grip of the shadows shielding me from her gaze. “I need to speak with Elio.”
“You heard Byron. The broadcast has already started,” Seth says.
I wish there were time to do this properly and talk things out. I feel as though I’m standing at the edge of a bottomless trench, ready to rappel down without a rope, with no time to prepare.
The clock on the wallticksandtocks, the meager minute Daisy bargained for nearly over. Less than two hours remain before the winter solstice ritual must take place—before the attack meant to wipe out the Winter King.
“I hurried over to save the day, but now I’m not sure where to start,” I admit, my thoughts jumbling together and my palmssweaty at the thought that, no matter what, Elio needs to wed in a few minutes.
“Come with me.” Daisy links her elbow in mine and whisks me outside.
If Byron is surprised by my presence, he doesn’t show it, the Faeling hurriedly crossing something off on his clipboard before he flies off.
Daisy and I walk in tandem along the parapet and down the stairs to the entrance of the maze.
Sara rounds the last kink of the cedar hedge just as we’re about to head in, and a white puff of air mists in front of her face. “Daisy? Is everything al—” She freezes at the sight of me.
“I’ll be the one walking Daisy down the aisle.” I announce loud and clear, in case any hidden cameras are flying about.
With a grave nod, Sara guides us to the opposing end of the labyrinth.
Near the last corner, she stops and tips her chin toward the exit to give us the go-ahead. “Go and give him hell.”
My spine straightens at her encouraging words, and I lean toward the royal chief of staff. “You should go to Elio’s study. You’re about to receive some visitors.”
“Visitors?”
A fleeting smile glazes my lips, giving me another much-needed boost of confidence. “Daisy’s not the only one who brought family.”
I suck in air as we emerge from the maze and step directly onto the aisle.
The inner gardens have been decked out with thousands of lights for the occasion, with illuminated garlands of ice swaying to a gentle breeze from the branches of the Hawthorn. A spotlight highlights the position of a frost apple that looks ripe for the picking.
The one tucked inside my jacket pocket doesn’t feel as heavy as it used to. Each step grows lighter as I make my way to the altar where Elio is waiting for his bride.
The Winter King stands next to Paul on stage, his gaze fixed straight ahead and his hands clasped at his front. His navy-blue suit, a deep and rich shade, complements his pale skin, and a high, starched collar adds to the formality of the occasion. His tie is fastened with a vintage platinum brooch, lending a touch of old-world charm to his otherwise modern look. His hair is tousled—chic yet rebellious.
The thick soles of my hunter boots squish the rose petals scattered on our path while Daisy’s white fur slippers barely make a dent in the snow.
A string quartet accompanied by a pianist play the romantic melody of Elizabeth Snow’sNever to Be,the most iconic Fae song of this century.I almost expect her to start singing when the first verse starts, but the famous singer is nowhere to be found. The forlorn notes of the piano send a shiver through my body, the absence of lyrics actually highlighting the melody, the theme strangely geared toward heartbreak.
